


regrets and mistakes (they're memories made)

by hellraisin



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Oh so fluffy, and charles is all concerned, and it's fluffy, and kind of reassures him, and starts regretting stuff, erik gets tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellraisin/pseuds/hellraisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, Charles,” Erik smiles, his lips curling up at one side. “I think you know. I think you’ve known for a while, but you like to be exceptionally subtle about these things.”</p><p>The professor laughs warmly. “Perhaps.”</p><p>“Perhaps always means yes with you.”</p><p>His grin widens. “Perhaps.”</p><p>--</p><p>Or the one where Erik regrets his decision to stay with Charles because he knows it will get harder to leave later on, and the professor himself steps in to give a little reassurance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	regrets and mistakes (they're memories made)

Erik sits in an armchair in the drawing room, a glass of scotch in one hand as he glances at the chessboard in front of him. His eyes flicker to the amber liquid beside him, and he watches as it sloshes in his glass. His hand looks perfectly steady, but for some reason, the scotch is moving a little more erratically than it should be for someone sitting still.

 

He isn’t drunk. Just pleasantly tipsy; that hazy feeling when everything’s just a little brighter and blurrier than usual. Erik isn’t a heavy drinker per se, but he likes this feeling.

 

Especially now.

 

He tried to leave a month or so ago, briefcase in hand and wrapped up in a leather jacket, but Charles had caught him outside of the CIA building. Damn that man. Damn him to hell.

 

Erik had thought there was no way he could stay here with this telepath, someone who could see in to his head. Most of the time, Erik didn’t even want to be in his own head, so how could he ever feel comfortable around someone who would always have access to his mind? But of course, Charles Xavier had used Shaw against him in a way that forced him to stay – and Erik uses the term ‘forced’ very lightly; he’s had far worse thrust upon him against his will than this.

 

It’s around this time, sitting in a leather armchair with the smell of old books flooding his nostrils and the taste of scotch still bitter on his tongue, that Erik realises what a mistake it was to stay.

 

He should have gone and killed Shaw while he had the chance, before Charles and the children could even get involved. It’s too complicated to leave now, and even if he wanted to, Erik is sure that he couldn’t bring himself to go.

 

He understands that the only reason he didn’t just walk away from Charles that night was because he wasn’t strong enough. Couldn’t say no to the man who saved his life. Who saved him from himself.

 

But now, Erik is even weaker than he was then.

 

Every day he spends with Charles only makes things harder. Erik always liked to think that he was a lone wolf who could take care of himself with no second thought for anyone or anything else, but being with this makeshift, misfit family, he realises that maybe he does need something to care about besides himself. Someone to care about him, perhaps.

 

He sees the way Charles looks at him; full of hope. The telepath thinks he can change Erik for the better, rid him of his vengeful ways and make him into something he isn’t, something he can never be. At least Erik _thought_ he could never be. Now he isn’t so sure.

 

There’s something about Charles Xavier that Erik cannot put his finger on. It’s not like they’re the only mutants in the world; there are six of them now, but he doesn’t favour Raven or Hank or Sean or Alex half as much as he values Charles.

 

Erik is lost in his thoughts, still staring intently at the glass of scotch as he ponders why he couldn’t leave, why he doesn’t want to, when he feels something moving in the room. He can feel the metal twisting, and it takes his inebriated mind a few moments to realise that a doorknob is turning – someone is entering the room.

Under any other circumstances, he’d be on the edge of his seat, ready to attack if need be. But he’s been honing in the skills of his mutation with the help of Charles, and now he can sense exactly who is coming from the metal in the heel of the shoe; the sizing of the belt buckle; the amount of fillings in the mouth.

 

“Oh, my friend,” Charles hums as he enters the room, a fond, almost pitying expression on his face. Erik feels the warm, familiar touch of Charles inside his head; a brief contact, just so the professor can reassure himself that Erik is alright without being intrusive. “You’re very drunk, Erik. I could feel it from across the building.”

 

“Only a little,” Erik says, taking a quick sip from the glass before settling in down on the chessboard instead of the table, accidentally knocking over a couple of pawns in the process.

 

Charles chuckles and shuffles over towards the opposite armchair, settling down in it and pouring himself a glass of scotch before crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing in here, all alone?”

 

Erik shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling in what feels like an uncoordinated movement, and he’s sure it doesn’t look particularly graceful either. “Drinking, evidently,” he says, and although it sounds bitter and spiteful in his head, it comes out faint and almost pathetic.

 

The professor ducks his head to hide a meek smile, and Erik would feel like he was being mocked if he didn’t know Charles better than that. “I can see. Drowning your sorrows? Or is it a common past-time of yours to hide away in the drawing room and drink yourself into a coma?”

 

“I’m hardly catatonic, Charles,” Erik protests, but it feels weak. Everything does.

 

“Not yet, at least,” he smiles in return. “Three more sips and you’ll be on the floor, I’d reckon. I’m not carrying you to your room, Lehnsherr.”

 

Erik looks over at Charles, eyelids heavy and tired, and finds himself smiling back. Before he can even comprehend what’s going on, he’s laughing, head thrown back. He can feel Charles watching him, chuckling softly to himself, and it’s a wonderful sound; it fills him with hope and happiness, things he hasn’t felt since he was just a boy.

 

“I don’t think you could carry me, even if you tried,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair as he looks back over to the professor.

 

“I could, my friend. I actually have quite a bit of upper body strength.”

 

“Are you bragging?”

 

“I may be,” Charles smirks, and Erik feels something inside himself flutter. It makes him both happy, that he’s found someone he can be so open and light-hearted with, and sad, that he knows this will all end in tears, as everything always does.

 

Charles gives him a look, and Erik shakes his head softly as he runs a hand over his face. “ _Mein Gott_ ,” he murmurs, still smiling. He calms down after a moment, looking down at the glass sitting in the centre of the chessboard, and falls into silent brooding once again.

 

He hears the professor yawn from opposite him. “It’s been a long day,” he announces. Erik hums in agreement. “A lot of training. Though I believe Alex is doing very well now. He has a lot more control.”

 

“Yes,” Erik nods, for lack of anything better to say. He wonders for a brief moment how exactly he is supposed to make idle chitchat with the man who throws him into a pool of emotional turmoil every evening.

 

Charles sighs, like he was expecting a more detailed response, but then he says: “Erik, my friend, you know I would never enter your mind without your permission, especially not when you’re in a vulnerable state like this. But I’m afraid I came in to see you because I could pick up on your vibes from down the hallway, and I know that something’s troubling you. Now, you don’t have to share, but-“

 

“-no, I will,” Erik interjects. He should feel frustrated, knowing that it was silly of him to believe he could hide something from a telepath, but he feels relief more than anything else. Perhaps it’s the alcohol. “I want to.”

 

“Okay,” Charles says, sitting back a little. He almost looks like he’s preparing himself for the worst, and Erik can’t help thinking that maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

 

“I shouldn’t have stayed this long,” Erik blurts before he can stop himself. He expects to see the hurt in Charles’ eyes; the child-like innocence that many see in the professor. Erik is looking down at his feet, but he can imagine the look on the man’s face, wide-eyed and disappointed, swallowing thickly. But when he finally looks up, he doesn’t see a pained expression, but a raised eyebrow.

 

“Of course not,” Charles shrugs. “I could have told you that.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, what do _you_ mean?”

 

Erik stumbles there for a moment, unsure what’s going on. He narrows his eyes slightly at Charles. “I just meant that... well, I’ll have to leave eventually, but I just wish I’d done it earlier. Before things got too complex.”

 

“I see,” Charles nods, still unfazed by the whole ordeal. “Well, I simply meant that you’re a broken man – we all are – and so you’ve gotten this far by isolating yourself from the rest of the world. You focus on revenge and retribution instead of friendship and trust. And now that you have these things, you don’t know what to do with them. So naturally, you want to run away from the responsibility.”

 

Erik stares for a few minutes, eyes still narrowed. He leans forward briskly to grab his glass and takes a long gulp, draining the remains of the amber liquid. It burns his throat harshly as he swallows it down, burns almost as harshly as the sound of the truth. “How could you possibly know that?”

 

“Because I know you much better than you think. You seldom let people in, Erik. And whether you intended to or not, you’ve managed to let me slip through the cracks.”

 

“I intended to,” Erik says, looking directly at Charles. A smile threatens to pull at the corner of his lip, and when the professor beams at him (that fond, hopeful smile), he finds himself reciprocating.

 

“Good,” he murmurs, keeping eye contact as he lifts the remnants of his glass to his lips and sips at it.

 

Erik watches him closely, wondering what he’s thinking. He never knows. He often imagines what it would be like to be a telepath, but he knows that he’s use it to his advantage, and maybe it’s for the best that he cannot read (or control) minds. And yet, it fascinates him that Charles has the ability to know what people are thinking, how they’re feeling. It hits him then that Charles has never had, and possibly never will have, someone else in his head – it’s only ever been the other way around. People probably don’t even ask what’s on his mind.

 

So Erik asks.

 

“Tell me,” he says. “What are you thinking?”

 

Charles doesn’t even have to pause to ponder how to say it. He just rattles it off. “That I made a good decision in pulling you out of the water. That I’m glad I tried to stop you from leaving,” he murmurs, looking over to Erik. “That I’m glad you listened to me, and didn’t actually go.”

 

Erik hums thoughtfully, nodding in agreement. He looks at the chessboard, with the King and Queen standing at the head, surrounding by their confederates while the pawns remain knocked over. “You’re rather hard to ignore.”

 

“As are you. You know, I think you forget that the first time we met, you were wielding anchors and trying to pull up a submarine. It was hardly another day at the office.” Erik laughs wholeheartedly, and Charles does the same.

 

“I’m glad I stayed too,” he admits, as sincerely as he can.

 

“Things would be different if you hadn’t. I can’t even begin to comprehend how things would be if you had left.”

 

“Easier,” Erik suggests.

 

“Oh, of course,” Charles smirks. “No doubt about that.” Erik flicks his wrist, tugging at the strip of metal in the heel of Charles’ left shoe as a friendly warning, and the professor laughs at the pulling on his leg. “But things would be more difficult, too. Both professionally and personally.”

 

“Personally?”

 

Charles just smiles and ducks his head, looking down at the chessboard. “When you said you wished you’d left before things got too complex... What did you mean?”

 

It’s a silly question, and they both know it. “Oh, Charles,” Erik smiles, his lips curling up at one side. “I think you know. I think you’ve known for a while, but you like to be exceptionally subtle about these things.”

 

The professor laughs warmly. “Perhaps.”

 

“ _Perhaps_ always means _yes_ with you.”

 

His grin widens. “Perhaps.”

 

“It’s like you’ve forgotten that I’m drunk. You can’t keep confusing me like this,” Erik protests, although there’s no menace behind it.

 

“I can, and I shall continue to do so until we get somewhere,” Charles says, pushing himself up from the chair and heading towards the drinks cabinet behind Erik. He subtly takes the bottle of scotch with him, to stow it away from Erik.

 

“And where is somewhere?” Erik asks.

 

“Wherever you want it to be,” Charles shrugs in response, locking up the brass latch on the cabinet, as if that will stop a man who can move metal from across the room. He begins to walk back towards the centre of the room, pausing behind Erik’s chair for a moment and placing his hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly. It’s a show of comfort and affection, and Erik responds by moving a hand atop the professor’s.

 

“I think we’re already here,” he says, squeezing Charles’ hand.

 

The smirk in the man’s voice as he says, “perhaps,” is evident. And when he leans down to rest his chin on top of Erik’s head, the metal-bender realises just how okay he suddenly is with making silly mistakes like choosing to stay.

 

“I’m going to bed, my friend,” Charles announces after a moment, releasing Erik from his grip and walking around the chair. “Goodnight.”

 

Erik doesn’t want him to go, and from the look on his friend’s face, neither does he. He’s hesitant to leave, and whether that’s because he’s waiting for a ‘goodnight’ in response, or whether he genuinely doesn’t want to walk out of the door, Erik doesn’t know. But when he continues to just sit there, saying nothing, Charles bows his head and leaves.

 

Erik sighs softly and stands from his own chair. He puts his glass away, straightens up the chessboard and puts the pawns back into their place. He paces around for a moment, unsure what he’s trying to achieve, before giving up on himself and heading down the hallway towards his bedroom. If Charles wants to talk about this tomorrow, he’ll fault his vulnerability down to the intoxication.

 

It isn’t until he spots Charles in the corridor that it all comes flooding back. If he’s going to hold his state of inebriation responsible, he might as well take advantage of the situation. So he grabs the man’s wrist, only slightly surprised when Charles’ hand wraps around his own. “ _Liebling_ ,” Erik whispers as he leans in closer, pressing his forehead to Charles’. As the other man leans in, he can feel the professor’s smile against his lips.

 

As they kiss for the first time, he feels the caress of Charles’ telepathy inside his mind, and if Erik’s only thought just happens to be _ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich,_ then he’ll definitely blame that one on the scotch.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you need the German translations:
> 
> Mein Gott - my God
> 
> Liebling - darling
> 
> ich liebe dich - I love you
> 
> Thanks for reading! I thrive off kudos and comments.


End file.
